That Saturday at my cousin Emma's baby shower was supposed to be happy.
I'd woken up flat, as always. Had only water before we left.
By noon when we arrived, the swelling had started.
By 2pm during gift opening, I looked completely pregnant.
Mark had been watching the other couples. Their joy. Their excitement.
Then he looked at me. At my belly. His whole face changed.
"Oh my god... are you...?"
In front of everyone, he reached for my stomach.
The room went silent. Emma stopped mid-sentence. Everyone stared.
I said "Mark, no. It's just the bloating."
Then I watched his face crumble. The hope drain from his eyes.
My aunt whispered to someone, "Poor thing, she really does look pregnant though."
I locked myself in Emma's bathroom and sobbed. Not because of the embarrassment. Because I realized this was getting worse.
Six months ago, I'd bloat by 4pm.
Three months ago, by 2pm.
Last week, I woke up already puffy.
I was running out of time before this became permanent.